Last Saturday, we got to babysit our nephew Flynn, an exciting event for us.
After playing ball in the yard for a while and never convincing Flynn to throw the ball toward us instead of down the hill and into the street, we put some clothes and shoes on him and headed for his neighborhood park. The steps to the park are really big for Flynn right now, but he can manage it as long as each of his hands is stretched way up to one of each of our downstretched hands.
We showed Flynn a bunch of plants while we were out. I put a flower that Flynn had picked into his little shirt pocket, and for the rest of the trip, Flynn picked leaf after leaf from plants we passed, and wanted them all to fit in his tiny pocket. When we got home, he had quite the collection.
Colin pointed one plant in particular out to Flynn. The plant (called a Cleaver) sticks like velcro to your clothes when you brush against it. Colin picked off a piece of the plant and stuck it to Flynn’s shirt, which thrilled him. Colin told him “sticky plant”. After a great time had by all of sticking plants to shirts, we asked Flynn “Do you see any more sticky plants?” Of all the little plants around us, Flynn immediately picked exactly the right plant, and was rewarded by seeing it stick, as expected. After that, he spotted sticky plants over and over again on our trail. It’s amazing that two-year-old Flynn can learn a pretty non-obvious plant after only one sighting, while I have a terrible time learning a plant after learning them over and over again!
Flynn is now at a stage where he will make some attempt to repeat almost any word you want him to. We even got him to say both of our names! So we told him that he was Flynn the botanist, and he responded “botnist” :).
May 31, 2008 at 4:36 pm
I babysat Flynn last Thursday (May 29th). He found a broken bonger–a smallish (adult palm-sized) ball normally attached to a handle. People use bongers to gently flagellate themselves on the back to help release tight muscles. I thought I’d super-glue the ball and handle together and give Flynn a bonging, but he had other ideas. I don’t know if he’s seen golfing or not, but one of his games was to put the ball on the lawn, then try to hit it with the “shtick” (his pronunciation). Not being a golfer, I can’t comment on his form.
He graduated to throwing the ball more and more deeply into blackberry bushes and nettle patches, until it was irretrievable. Eventually we went inside, and it dawned on him that his mama and daddy were not here, to his great regret. We managed to move on past their absence until their joyous return.
May 31, 2008 at 4:39 pm
Great story. Funny how “Ok, Flynn, let’s not throw the ball there” suggestions don’t really seem to have much right now :).